


Gentlemen Sorted

by pony_rocks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 07:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12228438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pony_rocks/pseuds/pony_rocks
Summary: Short and generally silly story about how one rarely gets what he or she wants.





	Gentlemen Sorted

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative universe, everybody lives and things are dandy. And Tristan looks like Lee Pace in Pushing Daisies and he loves to eat, because that is how it should be.  
> (Not a native speaker, sorry.)

On Tuesday, Eggsy arrived to the headquarters only to find it in wild disarray.

He should have been warned by the sight of somewhat glassy-eyed Lionel, who crouched behind the shop counter like a wounded crane, but he was running late and besides, his brain was fully occupied devising a clever scheme which would allow him to monopolize the shooting range today, as well as the newest laser rifle Merlin so far refused to let him even look at. 

However, once Eggsy stepped inside the spacious and cosy meeting room, where the agents currently operating in London met every morning, he immediately realised something was very wrong. For one thing, despite the lateness of the hour, the tea and cakes still sat untouched on the low Edwardian table by the window; even the little cream custards, which were usually gone the minute they were served. Second, the agents present were obviously agitated.

Harry was pacing across the room, clearly upset. His extreme dismay was apparent not only from the crabby expression he put on, but also the little curl which has broken free of his usual carefully combed hair and was now dangling over his furrowed forehead.

In one corner, Tristan sat slumped in a plush chair, face hidden in his hands, shoulders slightly shaking.  Percival and Roxy were sitting by the flickering fire wearing an identical sour expression.

Behind them, Merlin stood propped against the mantelpiece, his face inscrutable.

Dreading some horrible news signalling impending doom and apocalyptic destruction, Eggsy opened his mouth to ask what in the Bourne’s name had happened there, when a loud wail from Tristan’s corner interrupted him:

“But why?” Tristan dug all ten fingers into his usually perfectly combed hair, his boyish face convulsed in unspeakable grief.

“Why Hufflepuff?!”

His desperate imploring was met with pitiful stares from everyone except Eggsy, who had no idea what was going on and was starting to get a bit scared, and Harry, who faced Tristan’s anguish with a glare so icy it could freeze the Thames.

“Well, at least you get to be popular and you can have free reign over the kitchen! Whereas I...” Harry’s under-chin swelled indignantly, making him look like a very well-dressed, very testy pigeon. “I am apparently supposed to be a backstabbing schemer and overall shady character!”

Before Eggsy could assure him he was neither, Percival moodily looked up from his chair by the fire and said in a dangerously quiet voice: „I see no problem with belonging to Slytherin.“

Harry turned to him like stung by a wasp: “You shut up! Weren’t _you_ sorted to Gryffindor?”

Percival’s eyes glinted dangerously.

“Yes, I was. But what exactly is wrong with being Slytherin? I think too many children are needlessly bullied and ostracized for being Slytherin, and all just because some daft old hat decided their future before they were even of legal age!” he continued, his voice rising. “I would like to know who devised such a stupid system!”

“The bloody founding wizards and witches,” quipped Roxy, still looking very sour. Whatever she was, it did not please her.

Percival paled with righteous anger: “Well, then they were wrong and I want to speak to them!”

“But Hufflepuff!” wailed Tristan again. “Why Hufflepuff?! I wanted to be Gryffindor! Am I not brave enough to be a Gryffindor?!”

“Oh _do_ shut up, you Moaning Myrtle!” snarled Harry, his glasses askew. “What would you even _do_ there? Swallow all the Snitches?! Why don’t you rather go and stuff your face with some meringue?”

“Why don’t you go and get yourself a Horcrux, you rancid old arse?” muttered Percival darkly, rising from his chair and reaching for the nearest blunt object. “Because you will need seven once I am done with you!”

“Typical!” huffed Harry indignantly, snatching his Kingsman umbrella and assuming a defensive stance. “You Gryffindors are always so violent!”

Eggsy watched for a while as the fight begun, but after a minute or two – when Tristan and Roxy joined in – he lost count of which limb belonged to whom, so he carefully bypassed the snarling clump of fighting agents, took a big custard cream and a cup of Earl Grey tea from the table and joined Merlin by the fireplace.

“What the flying fuck...?” he said, helplessly gesturing to the perfect apocalypse that was getting on right in front of them.

The bald man just rolled his eyes, regarding the whole mess with half amused, half exasperated shrug.

“What would you think? They were bored waiting for you, so they all took an online sorting test on Pottermore, of course. And _they_ are not happy with the results, it seems.”

Eggsy gave Merlin a quick glance, then carefully sipped his tea.

“Ravenclaw, I presume?”

The corners of Merlin’s mouth twitched upwards in the fleetest and smuggest smile Eggsy has ever seen.  “Of course. I _am_ , after all, a wizard.”

“That’s only fair, bruv.” Still, there was one thing that kept bothering Eggsy.

“And what about Lionel?”

“Oh,” said Merlin, nonchalantly ducking a flying chair, “he’s a Squib.”

 

FIN


End file.
